tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69658861694771217172024-03-19T03:15:58.010-07:00still-soundIT BREATHES MESteven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.comBlogger225125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-84816022199351858402018-05-05T20:49:00.000-07:002018-05-05T22:09:17.145-07:00still-sound 225. Pedals<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5MVsy_ZsbWtGv51iSPbyFKlR29T4D5vzMzVeHMHpWFtPufb-Sxjq7YjIgrC9jPYpizg2ucoXHKnuXK5T1gVtZ6Y9kMUzxoBOl2ZtfOhKbG9jpd0PUTNcIR2WaG49JdB-skXB22KRLPg/s1600/pedals.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5MVsy_ZsbWtGv51iSPbyFKlR29T4D5vzMzVeHMHpWFtPufb-Sxjq7YjIgrC9jPYpizg2ucoXHKnuXK5T1gVtZ6Y9kMUzxoBOl2ZtfOhKbG9jpd0PUTNcIR2WaG49JdB-skXB22KRLPg/s400/pedals.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I was maybe twelve years old I asked my mom for an electric guitar. My parents were unusually generous with my sister's and my musical curiosities. At that point I had been learning piano and trumpet for several years but I started to get into popular music and I wanted to sound like my favorite groups. We went to a music store and I tried an instrument made by Ibanez. My favorite band at the time was Spandau Ballet and I noticed in a group picture that Gary Kemp's guitar was indeed an Ibanez. I never even touched a guitar before that point so when the man who worked at the music store plugged the Ibanez into an amp and invited me to test it out, I simply strummed the open strings and was disappointed with the sound. Why doesn't this sound like Spandau Ballet? I immediately abandoned the project and chose the path of a person who enters adolescence without a guitar.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The problem was pedals.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I didn't realize that the sounds I loved so much from my favorite artists were highly modulated and affected. I thought that some guitars simply sounded <i>that way</i>, just as a Stradivarius offers a violin tone like no other.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A year ago I started playing guitar. As an adult I realize that many of the things that I love are the result of a complex process of trial and error and wise decision making. Many beautiful things are elegant and perfect because great effort made them so. Or at least lots of gear...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So I became a gear head. I have bought and have been given over a dozen effect pedals at this point. My most recent acquisition arrived in the mail two days ago. I realize that I wanted the sparkly, shimmery sound I was able to make, thanks to my pedal board, to actually change shape over time. A flanger pedal was exactly the tool I required.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I watched several videos reviewing various flanger pedals. The Electric Mistress by Electro-Harmonix has been around since the 1960s. Jimi Hendrix used one. Electric guitar purists seem to love this model - though recent reviews were somewhat lackluster. The MXR allowed the musician to achieve a Van Halen sound. The stomp box itself is 'built like a tank'. The Boss Flanger would give you the Cure sound. Obviously I see myself more as a Cure guy than a Van Halen guy, yet I selected the MXR nevertheless. I have an equalizer by MXR which allows me to enhance the treble sounds and decrease the bass resulting in a brighter sound. I decided that the a flanger pedal by the same company would be equally satisfying.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I added the new pedal to the chain and turned the power on. I played a simple chord progression and my living room resounded with the color of a cathedral. Neither Cure or Van Halen but simply perfect.</span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-46150035849677207772016-04-20T22:35:00.001-07:002016-04-21T09:38:31.293-07:00still-sound 224. Moon and chemtrails<br />
On Saturday we had an event at the perfume store where I work for a new brand inspired by vintage fragrances. Barbara Herman, the creator, writes about old perfumes in a blog and came out with an interesting book linking trends in perfume to specific social changes in the twentieth century. During a presentation at the event, Barbara mentioned Kouros by YSL and passed around scented blotters. She found inspiration in this fragrance because of its almost-unpleasant animalic funkiness - she argues that 'unsafe', dirty, dangerous scents all but disappeared in recent decades but champions their comeback. These complex, grown-up smells are challenging and glamorous.<br />
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Of course I know Kouros very well. I got a sample of it from a department store in the early 1980s. I would dab some on and then listen to the soundtrack of Cats the musical. I knew the songs very well. For me the smell and the Andrew Lloyd Weber melodies are inextricably linked.<br />
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Brennan told me that Cats was being revived. First in Paris and then on Broadway this fall. Yesterday the famous actor Taye Diggs was in our perfume store smelling sweet fragrances. I told him about the Cats revival. He told me how when he first moved to New York City in the 1980s he auditioned for the role of Rum Tum Tugger, the rebellious, Elvis-like rock and roll cat. I thought this was amazing. I told Taye how I used to to dab Kouros on to my 6th grade skin and sing and dance to Cats. <br />
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Brennan and I joked that we'd try out for the new cast of Cats. We decided that my pug Rosie would probably also try out. She doesn't like to be left out. Brennan texted me an image he created at work and said that Rosie had sent it to him. Apparently Rosie has decided to make her own musical. This image is completely hysterical.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjQ6e26iwK9y_dgsAc6neMN_I-2Tr4LFBn6MynR9cmW8_YSsws_2HWFIN_7_0pIV03UOd1wS0bdAF49l4HqlgpjT8IJTLn4OXCqjhDcNXzIpeoicTEopJiKzjk5wD2Uv-tWqG-A7o7OY/s1600/pugsmusical.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjQ6e26iwK9y_dgsAc6neMN_I-2Tr4LFBn6MynR9cmW8_YSsws_2HWFIN_7_0pIV03UOd1wS0bdAF49l4HqlgpjT8IJTLn4OXCqjhDcNXzIpeoicTEopJiKzjk5wD2Uv-tWqG-A7o7OY/s400/pugsmusical.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Tonight I sat in my garden and drank two beers. Earlier in the day I bought a timer at Home Depot so that the string lights in the fig tree can illuminate every evening and make the space magical. While driving to Home Depot I listened to the Overture of Cats and remembered how in the actual stage play, the string lights in the set flickered perfectly in time to the music. As though the lighting director played the light switches like a musical instrument. <br />
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I sat back into the Adirondack chair and drank more beer admiring my string lights. I noticed two chemtrails in the sky illuminated by the full, jellicle moon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxsrAGUNyQjghClQbMUV0pgMYP2Ge_KxGOQYi16RPbzhxt-K6nsVuWz6z6rBvCM1kRi4e5k-GXiuZc4PEypln97Ej8g0JqXbq9wbzY_LIz_bzeHxQECxznb6CwgiI8OsJWabGCSfEX6zo/s1600/moonchemtrail.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxsrAGUNyQjghClQbMUV0pgMYP2Ge_KxGOQYi16RPbzhxt-K6nsVuWz6z6rBvCM1kRi4e5k-GXiuZc4PEypln97Ej8g0JqXbq9wbzY_LIz_bzeHxQECxznb6CwgiI8OsJWabGCSfEX6zo/s400/moonchemtrail.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-5321763944478409612016-04-11T08:09:00.000-07:002016-04-20T22:10:29.323-07:00still-sound 223. String lights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbnwCX01N-potn8EOVtC31B4qE6gKBMM4UBGLOz5568zeKxqU27FOuWxObC3ctguEvXZ_qpA-s-L5fQ5ZLCTyKLJP5TGCMOgkXyZLAqHQZCWHtupwBXojlvH5_eoaX8pCPhi4ZrcGdWc/s1600/figcat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbnwCX01N-potn8EOVtC31B4qE6gKBMM4UBGLOz5568zeKxqU27FOuWxObC3ctguEvXZ_qpA-s-L5fQ5ZLCTyKLJP5TGCMOgkXyZLAqHQZCWHtupwBXojlvH5_eoaX8pCPhi4ZrcGdWc/s400/figcat.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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After work yesterday my friend Rachel and I went for a run in Elysian Park. It was the third week in a row and I looked forward to it, so much so that when I discovered that I forgot to bring running shorts with me to work that morning, I stopped by Target and bought a new pair. The new shorts are dark gray, baggy and not something I would ever choose unless presented with few options. I also bought some outdoor string lights, the same kind Brennan has in his garden.<br />
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Rachel and I chatted through most of the three and a half mile route through a newly refreshed park - it had rained all weekend. I kept the tag on the shorts because I intend to return them. I might encounter problems when returning because I can't find the receipt. I keep all receipts - I have boxes full of them. It's odd that I can't find this one.<br />
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When I got home I started to string the new lights on the fig tree in the garden. Vito the cat was there and watched me for a short while. My mother came out of her house as the sun was going down. I asked her if she liked the lights. She laughed a little and said "It looks like Christmas! I love it". As it became darker outside the cedar fence next to the fig tree took on a brighter amber glow.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wStl8UwyrT9zepqNH9v6Tzh49L4E0P0rHKXsihRG8tG38S_7l_JSTQTZEi1Nnf04IQ_-Af8enFW6RHFD2J4q7ApaFBjy8zOEU2pLcXUcDaFD7IWxFCUmYztOqHTv61ysPaVAvZ-8XlE/s1600/figlights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wStl8UwyrT9zepqNH9v6Tzh49L4E0P0rHKXsihRG8tG38S_7l_JSTQTZEi1Nnf04IQ_-Af8enFW6RHFD2J4q7ApaFBjy8zOEU2pLcXUcDaFD7IWxFCUmYztOqHTv61ysPaVAvZ-8XlE/s400/figlights.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I picked Rob up from Union Station a bit after 10 pm. He just got in from Seattle and took the Flyaway bus from the airport. When I pulled into the driveway at home I pointed out the new feature of the garden. Rob came out of the car and walked towards the fig tree. "It's great! It looks like Christmas!"<br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-36417043415368594772016-04-01T08:19:00.000-07:002016-04-20T22:10:17.694-07:00still-sound 222. Lollipop Corner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1IwBqWnC0L-C7MXiT_iWuUrCPdzT2noRFDSpR713ac690erMXBiCxVVkXRsw3VWVY2Q9V7FOmQ4E-35eZ7xAfXOB0H_fCnxkx5X0g17tWq3kdn_HXb9EVXvX1lF7GiAm0rxkLVbF0oYQ/s1600/gardenadirondack.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1IwBqWnC0L-C7MXiT_iWuUrCPdzT2noRFDSpR713ac690erMXBiCxVVkXRsw3VWVY2Q9V7FOmQ4E-35eZ7xAfXOB0H_fCnxkx5X0g17tWq3kdn_HXb9EVXvX1lF7GiAm0rxkLVbF0oYQ/s400/gardenadirondack.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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I hope Vito comes to visit this morning. I've been in the habit of waking up early to get some work done in the garden before the sun becomes too hot - or simply come out with a cup of coffee and sit on one of the Adirondack chairs inspecting my work and checking on the new plants that recently got planted. Often Vito walks past or curls up under the Korean national flower a couple of feet away from where I'm sitting so that he can be involved without actually being involved.<br />
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Vito and his sister Lollipop were born in my garden over a year ago. Their mother just appeared one day out of the blue and gave birth to kittens. She nursed them, some of them didn't make it. Vito and Lollipop did. I started feeding the ginger cats everyday and they became my outdoor pets. Their mother absconded as quickly and mysteriously as she arrived.<br />
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Lollipop was hit by a car early Monday morning. I woke up to texts from Rob saying that he thinks he saw her on the road as he drove to work. My mouth dried up and I ran outside in my pajamas to check. I picked up her body, not looking at her head. I heard a neighbor say "Oh, they really got it....' as I carried her into my garden. I don't know why the neighbor said this. Maybe he was as shocked by the sight of a dead cat and didn't know how to express his condolences. Maybe he's a big idiot.<br />
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It was the first time I ever touched her. She was always such a small, shy cat. I laid Lollipop on the ground and dug a big hole under the Palo Verde tree. When her enterrement was complete I went inside the house and texted Brennan. I caught him before he left for work and he came by to check on me. I openly wept. I couldn't stop. We stood by Lollipop's grave and lit incense.<br />
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I don't know if Vito understands that his sister is gone. I'm sure he does in a cat way. I planted an orange rose bush and yellow flowers under the Palo Verde tree and called it Lollipop corner. Vito walks past without any special reverence.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGllge7pirTtZsep9mlkc3YBADy7wo6iFjkIBeiRke_ThIwLWrkd3yYjXYUjzuI_iFJe36-96YnGUfU3_Ytxabq7o-2CYHu1qTdJR_qo8daILXK5TW65HjmBxTv7AE6Y-pHzh_gIP99CI/s1600/gardenlollipopcorner.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGllge7pirTtZsep9mlkc3YBADy7wo6iFjkIBeiRke_ThIwLWrkd3yYjXYUjzuI_iFJe36-96YnGUfU3_Ytxabq7o-2CYHu1qTdJR_qo8daILXK5TW65HjmBxTv7AE6Y-pHzh_gIP99CI/s400/gardenlollipopcorner.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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I bought Vito a bunch of toys from the pet store on Tuesday. A felt chili pepper filled with catnip. A fake mouse that dangles from a string and squeaks. A pillow you can warm in the microwave and leave with your cat to use as a comforting pillow. Vito doesn't seem interested in any of them.<br />
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Yesterday when I came home from the nursery and planted more verbena bonariensis and white gaura, he brushed past my legs multiple times. He stayed with me the whole time until the job was complete.<br />
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He emerged from under the Korean national flower about two minutes ago. Walked past me then disappeared around the house. I will go back into the house now and fill my, now cold cup, with more coffee.<br />
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Here's Lollipop last week, sunbathing on my balcony.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_7P8OChYa9g5fkXEVbT2u1P6V9ZOdRAbYEGznS-nNV9sun9z3OQyqjDNHumhXBCteL-d3fCpIXKGRm8owp-TcltkQucI6uhxaa6AQPo__Cnx0Eh-Ghvqc5Fee0cHj_YSCJtQg5GQ42Q/s1600/lollipop.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_7P8OChYa9g5fkXEVbT2u1P6V9ZOdRAbYEGznS-nNV9sun9z3OQyqjDNHumhXBCteL-d3fCpIXKGRm8owp-TcltkQucI6uhxaa6AQPo__Cnx0Eh-Ghvqc5Fee0cHj_YSCJtQg5GQ42Q/s400/lollipop.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-7968249242511267152016-03-25T09:06:00.000-07:002016-03-26T14:05:32.627-07:00still-sound 221. Garden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnb4_bcDQaQZP3qlMuOiYRoCO7BG-21Sy8wv18cNiP4nGKaLCE1hmYGmdzMEDpl21QK_I8cL5L3jDVzt37d_dcu4lEmElTTouIbs1zOXE9HjfrUNFo36UOmdkldFwdDiB-vLHm8IRRY6U/s1600/gardenafter.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnb4_bcDQaQZP3qlMuOiYRoCO7BG-21Sy8wv18cNiP4nGKaLCE1hmYGmdzMEDpl21QK_I8cL5L3jDVzt37d_dcu4lEmElTTouIbs1zOXE9HjfrUNFo36UOmdkldFwdDiB-vLHm8IRRY6U/s400/gardenafter.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is how my garden looks this morning. I've been working on it on my days off for a few weeks now. It was my desire to make the plot of land separating my house from my mother's into a peaceful place where you could sip coffee in the morning and wine in the evening. Until several weeks ago it was a plot of pure ugliness. Here is a picture to demonstrate this point:<br />
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My mother stole an aloe plant from the neighbor's yard. She actually dug it up and transplanted into our ground. I yelled at her for this although I secretly knew that the neighbor would probably never notice because his garden is just as ugly as ours used to be.<br />
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I put off transforming the space because I knew I had to erect a fence to shield the view of the neighboring house. I've never built a fence before and didn't know how to begin. After discovering that Home Depot sold cedar fence boards I consulted a few youtube videos and learned how to build a fence. <br />
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I dug up the stolen aloe, potted it and placed it in my mother's back patio. The strip of earth next to the graveled area will have Veitch's blue globe thistle. I ordered the roots from a website and they arrived from Holland only a week later. <br />
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Among the thistle, the thin stalky limbs of verbena bonariensis will rise. Right now they are fragile shoots of pale green emerging from the small pouch-like pods of a seed starter kit.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM92eRz7ArYjVX-nKFeaCoB__n6Z3elGpq9rWZtAGglhRO24v1Y2oQcDdXQinYu4QSyOsc2Dhguog6ZklIcFHVMESF-7iSF1lign3rKmqCSQZGxcxmd9JdZLhz4N0_ulG23aJ8_-NGIjs/s1600/gardenverbena.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM92eRz7ArYjVX-nKFeaCoB__n6Z3elGpq9rWZtAGglhRO24v1Y2oQcDdXQinYu4QSyOsc2Dhguog6ZklIcFHVMESF-7iSF1lign3rKmqCSQZGxcxmd9JdZLhz4N0_ulG23aJ8_-NGIjs/s320/gardenverbena.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-26544637510620394022015-10-15T18:30:00.002-07:002015-10-15T18:31:07.402-07:00still-sound 220. Interesting flowers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizyYCOb6gMxgjJPnJoqNtv8IEWCXd_3SkXh4d0NA0negPRJPpXGbUzAtwvHDRuAkvgLm2BpCaVscnyrhR76TS2MSN95ZrrYAxwQlHUjLYcObBjam9e-OQLcuLdelcElBqNrJwnbOf3wWw/s1600/clementineorangeballoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizyYCOb6gMxgjJPnJoqNtv8IEWCXd_3SkXh4d0NA0negPRJPpXGbUzAtwvHDRuAkvgLm2BpCaVscnyrhR76TS2MSN95ZrrYAxwQlHUjLYcObBjam9e-OQLcuLdelcElBqNrJwnbOf3wWw/s400/clementineorangeballoon.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">I found this beautiful orange bottle in the trashcan at work. It was once filled with a beautiful jasmine perfume but the sprayer was ripped off and the contents distributed into many little sample vials which people interested in beautiful jasmine fragrances will be able to buy through a perfume website. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">I stopped into Clementine flower shop in Silverlake on my way home after filling a bag of groceries at Trader Joes. I chose these orange flowers because they look like little bonnets or lanterns and when would anyone need flowers like this unless one had an orange bottle that was once filled with beautiful jasmine perfume?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL5hdebs_3-WuS3GjhvVOIglRz2RF7MB0Qr0STcer3ySv568gvl03QfeJLoaB-Vk7-upFPKZ8AftTEhT_Kfohwt4fmEusaMdDE60KuYKaWN12FP-gjxcctZV1w1tSKESqdQit8hUavsu4/s1600/clementinegreen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL5hdebs_3-WuS3GjhvVOIglRz2RF7MB0Qr0STcer3ySv568gvl03QfeJLoaB-Vk7-upFPKZ8AftTEhT_Kfohwt4fmEusaMdDE60KuYKaWN12FP-gjxcctZV1w1tSKESqdQit8hUavsu4/s400/clementinegreen.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">I saw these simple green scentless flowers and decided to put them in an old amber jar from Carcassonne. I don't know what they are. Neither did the woman with pink hair who sold them to me. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">I like buying flowers like this. When you have random vessels to put them in and access to a shop like Clementine that sells interesting flowers individually, then you can have floral situations at your home without spending much money. A friend of mine works for a very fancy Hollywood florist and she told me about several clients who spend tens of thousands of dollars every week on flowers to fill their homes. This is sad. What's the point of having a flower in your house unless you can observe it, enjoy it, watch it live and eventually watch it die? If I had to do this several thousand times over in a week I'd lose interest very quickly. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">I feel sanctimonious thinking that - as though I'm better than a person who would spend tens of thousands of dollars on flowers every week. I suppose they have a lot more than I'll ever have so I'll at least savor every drop of my self righteousness. I'm sure they're self-righteous too which means, again, that they have at least what I have plus more.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">But do the people who spend tens of thousands of dollars every week on flowers have a lambs ear like this? I don't think so. It feels velvety and looks like a beautiful sculpture standing upright in a vase I made a few years ago.</span></div>
Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-30033007583477389482015-09-24T19:40:00.000-07:002015-09-24T19:40:48.526-07:00still-sound 219. Eau Argentine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBtTaSG-kAKIokCS25cObC88UQRaP05QQeG6CTlYF_oAFeeE2rM8JbuAmwQ4FCvsfvr5a80L6W84t5wUOMrq9CHRJTbngMrM_f9KpLFl-SMeUydb-199qP_7SmqiFZc7i1HU4IkYZA17k/s1600/iunx.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBtTaSG-kAKIokCS25cObC88UQRaP05QQeG6CTlYF_oAFeeE2rM8JbuAmwQ4FCvsfvr5a80L6W84t5wUOMrq9CHRJTbngMrM_f9KpLFl-SMeUydb-199qP_7SmqiFZc7i1HU4IkYZA17k/s400/iunx.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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I wanted to find a new fragrance for myself on my trip to France. Being a scent-obsessed person, I started considering my options long before my actual departure. I considered <b>Une Rose</b> from Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle. I've always loved this scent and consider it to be the perfect rose perfume. I also wanted to be sure to visit the Frederic Malle boutique in Paris since the images I've seen of it look very stylish. I've been wearing a sample of the scent, test driving it... The reactions have been so-so. "It's smells like rose. It's nice." Nice wasn't particularly what I was going for. And I never made it to the boutique in Paris. There were just too many other seductive retail experiences in that city and I ran out of time.<br />
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At the duty free in LAX and Heathrow I tried on the parfum version of <b>Dior Homme</b>. I've never had the original <b>Dior Homme</b> though I like it very much and put it on whenever I'm in a Sephora. I liked the parfum version - it was deeper, richer. I thought I detected a coffee note. I was surprised that by the time I landed in Paris, less than an hour away from Heathrow that Dior Homme Parfum had all but disappeared on my wrist. On the other wrist I sprayed the parfum concentration of <b>Fahrenheit</b>; also very nice but not better than the original version which I already own. <br />
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I tried on <b>Cuir d'Ange</b> from the Hermessence line of Hermes. I tend to love the work of Jean Claude Ellena, the perfumer of Hermes. <b>Cuir d'Ange</b> is an excellent leather scent and I admire it enormously, but smells a bit too much like Band Aids on my skin. <br />
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In Paris I was thrilled to see that Diptyque has rereleased one of my favorite fragrances that has long been discontinued. <b>Opone</b> is a complex, spicy rose fragrance. I used to wear it in Paris when I lived there. Apparently the new version dials up the black pepper while cutting the cumin note. Honestly it doesn't smell very different to me. I love both versions. The bottle was perfect - cracked glass with a tiny label bearing the name of the perfume and an elegant bakelite cap. The sales assistant at the Marais Diptyque graciously gave me a sample of <b>Opone</b> and I wore it throughout my time in France. I resisted purchasing it though because we'll most likely be getting it at the perfume store where I work and a discount is a discount.<br />
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I found my scent at the IUNX boutique of the Hotel Costes. I had high hopes for <b>L'Ether</b>, (an incense scent that gets high praise online) and a new sandalwood fragrance. It was <b>Eau Argentine</b> that captured my imagination in the end. The sales assistant referred to it as a tea scent, mate in particular. I smelled tonka bean - the beautiful scent of freshly mown hay. I asked if there was tonka, she said 'Non. C'est mate'. The bottle lists coumarin however (ie. tonka bean). Duh.<br />
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The drydown of <b>Eau Argentine</b> goes into a creamy fig tree with crisp autumn leaves, not wildly different than Diptyque's <b>Philosykos</b> (designed by the same perfumer in fact, Olivia Giacobetti) yet it stays a tonka bean fragrance rather than a fig fragrance. I compared it to the new <b>Feve Delicieuse</b> from Dior which begins in a similar way to <b>Eau Argentine</b> though the drydown of the former becomes a pure vanilla.<br />
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The IUNX bottle is massive and long. It comes in a protective black foam case. I didn't spray it on until I came home to Los Angeles where I could photograph it in its pristine state. I reorganized my entire fragrance collection in my closet so that it could sit in a prime spot.<br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-90347463236546551112015-09-23T08:16:00.003-07:002015-09-23T09:50:29.379-07:00still-sound 218. The Garden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbLeqlTJHP72AjqYRG8d-2_UUeELWP0lEqaskfrktRR8dCdTrxMzhJ_jCpYLMFni1bROUcVXZ5aOrbraX2e4pmS2v9qww7RF-OKP0OxR8xtQfn4N3tFUIw0o9SWjbZPaRiTK1ZJgtXv7w/s1600/LaryFull.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbLeqlTJHP72AjqYRG8d-2_UUeELWP0lEqaskfrktRR8dCdTrxMzhJ_jCpYLMFni1bROUcVXZ5aOrbraX2e4pmS2v9qww7RF-OKP0OxR8xtQfn4N3tFUIw0o9SWjbZPaRiTK1ZJgtXv7w/s640/LaryFull.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The garden in La Redorte didn't always look like this. In fact this is an 'after' picture. I didn't think to take a 'before' picture because I was focused on clearing out the wild jungle that had emerged in the year since I last visited the house in France. Brennan and I were motivated to take the project on. We both love plants and enjoy the physicality of gardening - but when we first arrived at the house and found that we couldn't walk very far into it because of these enormous vines bearing tiny purple berries that blocked every path, we knew the job would present no shortage of challenges.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">First we ordered two 'big bags' of gravel. Each 'big bag' bears one ton of rocks. I suppose the French like to say 'beeg bag' rather than 'grand sac', at least those in the building profession. Les big bags arrived on a flat bed truck that barely fit down the tiny road. The operator of the truck controlled the crane from a remote control unit hanging from his neck. The movements were fluid, precise and controlled. I feel such an operation would never happen in LA but for some reason, in rural France, it seemed to be no problem. When the driver finished and the sacks were positioned by the front door, I said to him "Quel spectacle! Je suis vraiment impressione!" to which he replied "C'est d'habitude." Piece of cake. Piece of gateau...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Brennan and I transported the four tons of gravel one wheelbarrowful at a time. We created ramps to go up and down stone walkways. We had to replace the wheel once. We went to bed sore every night. We used stones left over from earlier projects where holes were knocked out of the three foot thick walls of the house to create a new door and a larger window from the kitchen. They become borders along the edges of the new planted areas. We created a planter in the front garden with the stones and filled it with jasmine. The climbing jasmine is a variety named after the city of Grasse, the perfume capital of the world. The few blossoms that still opened in September released an intense, beautiful scent.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">We made a raised circle in the center of the back garden and planted a mature olive tree. We lined the back border with pink oleander which will hopefully grow substantially and become a privacy screen. We filled the rest of the new spaces, enriched with bagged soil with verbena, plants that look like Russian sage but are not, rosemary, blue fescue grass and a highly fragrant rose. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">After we completed the garden, Brennan and I used any moment we could find to sit on the cafe chairs, drink wine and notice the sound of the breeze through the leaves and the perfume of the fig tree filling the air.</span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-89822355632781320492015-07-19T20:39:00.001-07:002015-07-20T09:22:28.607-07:00still-sound 217. The Price is Right<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Los Angeles Derby Dolls have moved from Echo Park to East Los Angeles, only a stone's throw from the house. Brennan got us tickets to go see LA compete against the team from Minnesota. Brennan and his roommate Iisac used to live in Minneapolis and would regularly go to roller derby. They supported their Midwestern sisters, while Rob, Derrick and I cheered for LA. LA clobbered them, something like 214 to 41. I thought it was nice how the announcer tried to make the defeated team feel better, pointing out that this had been their second bout of the day. At the end they started playing the theme music to The Price is Right. Not sure why, but it made me realize how upbeat and cheery the tune was. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This morning I found the theme music and put it in a new playlist I created called August 15. I told Brennan how I was going to play the music at the perfume store where I work and make all of the customers guess the prices.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">On my way into work I stopped by Blick to buy art supplies. I had a coupon that would allow me 20% off a total purchase over $50. I picked up some pieces of wood for carving, some pens, sketchbooks and a set of French Curves. I didn't bother to calculate, I know how things just add up. When I went to the checkout to pay, the total bill came to $49 and change. The sales associate said that I'd have to get one more thing to be able to use the coupon. I grabbed one more pen. She said "You're really good at shopping! You should be on The Price is Right."</span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-44191089200746926182015-07-15T22:26:00.000-07:002015-07-15T22:47:10.049-07:00still-sound 216. Fahrenheit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #444444;">Today I drove downtown to buy Fahrenheit. It's always been one of my favorite fragrances. The smell of it brings me back to the mall in the 80s. I've always obsessed over scents. I'd leave my mom to look at clothes in the department stores on a Saturday night and I'd creep over to the perfume counters and try on every fragrance. I know only an old man would say this, but they really knew how to make 'em back then. I am an old man - I know. But it's true. The original Fahrenheit was perfection.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">I knew that I'd probably find an old bottle of Fahrenheit at Universal Perfumes on Los Angeles Street. They have everything. Tons of mall classics from all decades. On my way there I crossed over the 7th Street bridge from Boyle Heights and noticed the new Silverlake Wines at Mateo Street. I pulled over and stopped inside. On my way back to the car I noticed a new store - the gates were up over the windows and two women were unpacking boxes and setting objects on to the counters. The objects looked hand crafted and Japanese. They saw me squinting through the windows and beckoned me to come in.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">I looked at a lacquered wooden bowl that had been hand-lathed. It was made in the Ishikawa Prefecture. I bought it. The women seemed pleased. I may have been their first customer. The shelves and cabinetry were gorgeous. I asked who made them. One of the women explained that a woodworker in Korea made everything and they had it shipped over. Wow. The store was called The Good Liver. It's my new favorite store.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">After the Good Liver I parked my car on Crocket Street, near Skid Row. I walked over to Universal Perfumes from there because parking is a nightmare downtown and i know that you can park on Crocket Street. I felt stupid walking past a campus of tents and homeless people with a hand made Japanese bowl in my bag and a (fake) Rolex on my wrist. I reached Universal Perfumes and asked for the oldest bottle of Fahrenheit. <span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> It smells like the gorgeous scent that I remembered from the 80s - pre reformulation. I bought a bottle and sprayed myself three times.</span></span></div>
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-83515272908115991902015-07-08T16:20:00.000-07:002015-07-15T22:04:20.048-07:00still-sound 215. Kittens and a Momma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #444444;">There's a feline family living in my garden. They just appeared around two weeks ago, a Momma cat and maybe five kittens. They mostly hide in the lavender or watch me walk to my car while crouched under oleander leaves. Sometimes from my bedroom window I see them on the driveway playing or all nuzzled up, nursing from Momma. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I keep a bowl of water out for them and every evening around 7 I leave a plate of food. I can tell that they've become used to this routine and expect me to be consistent. When I come home from work and get out of my car, I see their faces poking out from the shrubs reminding me of our little arrangement. I wish I could keep one but I'm severely allergic to cats and they are most decidedly outdoor animals. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I need to call this woman I've heard of who will collect stray and feral cats, have them fixed and then return them or try to find foster homes. I feel like I'm supposed to ask my next door neighbor if the Momma cat is his pet. If so, I wonder if I should ask for his permission. The kittens will grow up and then produce even more families to fend for themselves on the the streets of East Los Angeles. But I don't think I will approach the neighbor. If the cats do belong to him I don't think he cares. The only thing he seems to care about is moving the beat up station wagon parked outside his house to the other side of the street on Wednesday mornings for street cleaning, then moving it back at 12:00 on the dot, when parking is permitted again. He leaves the ugly car there at all times, except Wednesday mornings so that no one will park outside of his ugly house. One time I brought my garbage cans down to the street on garbage night. I left them next to my driveway towards his driveway - only because his brother had a massive truck parked on the other side of my driveway. He came to my house to complain the next day. He said that I didn't respect him. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-77165030572910645382015-05-01T07:38:00.001-07:002015-05-01T07:38:29.639-07:00still-sound 214. Oh Good Grief!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxapmO64j7NH6z9qVCQe3rY4gxZ-9ls9Xv5lmjQq7C7iyrC21EkZqTx6yB26y9jfz0Olu4pNgKRHHOzYC81-JgoBNQ8TjkZoaJJ50R1bGNOIrDArdXdZdXoSsHxsallH7kysYepLD0quE/s1600/photo+1+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxapmO64j7NH6z9qVCQe3rY4gxZ-9ls9Xv5lmjQq7C7iyrC21EkZqTx6yB26y9jfz0Olu4pNgKRHHOzYC81-JgoBNQ8TjkZoaJJ50R1bGNOIrDArdXdZdXoSsHxsallH7kysYepLD0quE/s1600/photo+1+(1).JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The other morning I listened to a Vince Guaraldi record called <b>Oh Good Grief! </b> I had heard one of its songs on the radio last week called 'You're in Love Charlie Brown'. There were more electric instruments on the track than what I would have expected from Guaraldi. The early 70s vibe of it made me think that Stereolab must have listened to this album a lot. I found the record on Ebay and a few days later started playing it at home. Schroeder is crouched over the piano on the cover and Snoopy has glasses and a mustache.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I completed my morning by brewing some coffee and snipping some flowers from my garden and putting them in a vase. The purple flowers are heliotrope. I don't know what the blue ones are called but I did grow them from a packet of seeds last year. I like how the leaves look like dill.</span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-87644259750157940042015-04-09T21:51:00.001-07:002015-04-09T22:06:46.011-07:00still-sound 213. Fragrances at the end of a day<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic44KIXMnPoMv9REBMwxCKQTQwcVhmWASey0UmR18YUW9Eif9OIwVQ06-671exY5TyKkEzhC1k3DqC1eIAWcEDAkIvxZDf2BtqptNPm6UBjHDRSuny2uDZpYfPlHuoj57DAy8m8Xjxd0E/s1600/photo+(33).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic44KIXMnPoMv9REBMwxCKQTQwcVhmWASey0UmR18YUW9Eif9OIwVQ06-671exY5TyKkEzhC1k3DqC1eIAWcEDAkIvxZDf2BtqptNPm6UBjHDRSuny2uDZpYfPlHuoj57DAy8m8Xjxd0E/s1600/photo+(33).JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #073763;">I took this picture from the house in France. I like how it shows the color of the light<br />outside just before it gets dark.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #444444;">Today I added a song to my current Spotify playlist by a pianist named Mine Kawakami. My favorite TV show, <b>At Home With Venetia in Kyoto</b> regularly features Kawakami's music. Her music sounds a little Classical with a hint of new age, like George Winston playing Bach. Bright, simple and relaxing. I'm surprised it took me so long to look Kawakami up on Spotify but when I finally did I was pleased to discover a lovely piece I hadn't already known. It's called <i>Fragrances at the end of a day</i>. The title appeals to me. I've found that the scents of trees, lawns and flowers seem to saturate and amplify as the sun goes down. The evening smells considerably different than day. </span><br />
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The first time I noticed the evening-scent-effect was as a very young kid. I must have been particularly young since most of the memory seems to be hazy, but I do remember the smell perfectly. My father was a photographer and would take pictures for various local businesses for advertisements and catalogs. One of his clients was a stained glass maker named Morgan Bockius. One day my dad came home from the Bockius workshop with a brown paper bag full of colorful glass beads, droplets and ornaments. At that point in my life this was the greatest surprise I had ever received. </span><br />
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My sister started taking piano lessons with Claire, the wife of Morgan Bockius. My family was once invited to visit their home and workshop. We walked through their expansive back garden. They may have even owned a horse, but I remember nothing about this visit until the sun had almost entirely retreated. The lawn was mown but not raked. All the greens of the trees and shrubs were dark and shadowy signalling night. The air was thick with a perfume which I now know to be hay. That luscious, coumarin, almond-cherry scent of hay. My young nose had never smelled anything like it before. We went inside the house because the air was becoming chilly. We sat around a kitchen table lit by a yellow incandescent lamp and ate Brazil nuts from a bowl. I had never had Brazil nuts before and would not have them again for, maybe twenty years or so. My family wasn't a Brazil nuts kind of family. I wouldn't know that the smell that intoxicated me that night was coumarin / hay until well over thirty years after the Bockius visit. </span><br />
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When I was sixteen I asked my dad if he could ask Morgan Bockius if he needed or wanted an apprentice. It seemed like the coolest thing someone could possibly do. How cool would it be if I could now say that I apprenticed a stained glass maker as a teenager? But I didn't. I didn't have my driver's license until after I graduated high school and I assumed my dad wouldn't want to drive me to an unpaid internship. </span><br />
<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-27118085185433096882015-03-22T21:21:00.000-07:002015-04-09T22:07:43.064-07:00still-sound 212. Joshua Tree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #444444;">Brennan and I stayed in Joshua Tree last weekend to celebrate his birthday. We found a house out in the middle of nowhere. We borrowed Rob's car (because it's so much nicer for road trips than my car. Actually it's just nicer) and drove it down dirt roads to finally arrive at a little rental house. There were swings outside and vast desert views.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">I had never seen actual Joshua trees until this trip. They're like the palm trees in LA except the palms are shorter and make the tree look hairy as they dry. They grow into unexpected shapes making them appear like humans or monsters. </span><br />
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On our second night we built a fire outside and sat on lounge chairs drinking wine, looking for constellations and listening to Sergio Mendes and Brazil 66. Then we drank some more. I had hoped (in vain) that we'd see UFOs, or at least one. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">We drove to the National Park the following morning and climbed over big rocks. Some formed cave-like passages. We entered some. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">We filled Rob's car with cacti and desert shrubs that we bought at a nursery and headed back to LA. Two hours later, we presented Rob with a fragrant orchid to thank him for letting us borrow his car. </span><br />
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The day after Brennan's birthday he received a call from his mom to let him know that his cat had died the previous day. When he moved to LA four years ago his mom agreed to look after Kitty at her home in Wisconsin. I imagine they became very close. When I got to Brennan's house in the evening his eyes were red and stung. We drank more wine. </span><br />
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I drew a picture based on a photo of Kitty. We placed it on a table and looked at it while burning a stick of incense.</span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-71882706032272220552015-02-19T21:15:00.004-08:002015-04-09T22:08:14.560-07:00still-sound 211. The attic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #444444;">I've been clearing my attic lately. It's not insulated and after last summer I vowed that the attic would be cleared and insulated by next summer. I've had two people come by to quote on the job but neither of them wanted to take on the rather unpleasant task of the clearout. I was told to contact hauling and removal guys at which point they'd quote on the insulation job. 'Forget it' I thought to myself. I'll do it myself. It'll be rather unpleasant but I'll take on the project little by little.</span><br />
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The job is horrible. I won't lie. I have to crouch down the entire time I'm up there. My lower back suggests that I should have just contacted the hauling/removal guys. </span><br />
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Mostly I'm filling heavy duty contractor garbage bags with building rubble, old roof tiles, garbage and a century's worth of dirt. I came across some letters including one from The US Navy Recruiting Substation dated 1945. It was addressed to a man in Mexico who was trying to enlist in the US Navy. I wonder if this is how he came to live in Los Angeles. Perhaps after serving in the Navy he became a chauffeur. I found his chauffeur license up there as well.</span><br />
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Look at these notes written down on a Utility Trailer Sales Co.notepad. It's from 1955. I wish people still wrote with this kind of handwriting. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">I bet Mr Duarte, the original occupant of my house never imagined that I would be finding his documents like this. He's most likely not with us any longer. If he served in the Navy in 1945, he was probably born roughly 100 years ago. I can't believe no one thought to insulate this house in those 100 years.</span><br />
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After carrying down my last garbage bag for the night and hauling it outside, I went to my mom's house to join her for rice cake soup. It's Chinese New Year today and one is supposed to eat rice cake soup since the rice cakes resemble coins. Their consumption is meant to bring about monetary luck. After eating, my mom asked me to leave so that she could watch her soap operas. I walked past jasmine blooming by my front door.</span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-28039325350582363092015-02-16T22:14:00.000-08:002015-02-16T22:14:03.535-08:00still-sound 210. Revisit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #073763;">On the night of Valentine's Day, Brennan and I went to the Los Angeles Theater downtown to watch Breakfast at Tiffany's. The theater has been restored to the opulent glory of its historic past. My friend Shahram owns it and graciously invited us to the screening. We wore suits. We were instructed to. All the women wore cocktail dresses. They too had been instructed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">I've seen Breakfast at Tiffany's countless times as a teenager. I remember certain scenes very well along with certain snippets of dialogue, like a drunk Holly Golightly reacting to Paul's criticism. She threatens him: "It should take you exactly four seconds to cross from here to that door...I'll give you two". </span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">My friend Rachel told me that the line she best remembers from the film is "top banana in the shock department", enunciated in the signature Audrey Hepburn style. </span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">It's funny rewatching or rereading something you knew as a young person with a few years under your belt. I used to think that Breakfast at Tiffany's was a cute love story about a kooky girl and a dependable, sensible guy. Now I realize that it's all about selling your ass. It's a game of players, strategizing gains from other people's desire. Every character is a player. In it to win it.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Until now I didn't appreciate how wonderful Holly Golightly's handwriting was. I marveled at the little handwritten note she left for Paul Varjak, inviting him to her place for drinks. The writing looks like the playful script Warhol used in his illustrations of shoes and cats. </span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">As a teenager I could appreciate that Mickey Rooney's portrayal of the Japanese photographer neighbor was hopelessly racist. I didn't realize how cool his apartment was or that he performed the tea ceremony in this cool apartment.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">I texted Shahram the day after Valentine's to thank him for inviting us to the screening. He came by the perfume store where I work to say hello and to introduce me to his girlfriend Sarah. She had an interesting camera with her. It turned out to be a Polaroid and she took my picture. When my likeness emerged on the emulsion after a couple of minutes, I thought that I looked cool. Like my teenage self, only cooler and more sophisticated than my actual, clueless teenage self. With facial hair.</span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-871723259118384022015-02-05T21:06:00.002-08:002015-04-09T22:08:43.522-07:00still-sound 209. Highly perfumed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #444444;">The air outside my front door has been highly perfumed lately. Although I don't see any, I certainly smell citrus trees in full blossom. Maybe my neighbors are hiding them in their backyards. I noticed the scent last week when I was sanding a sculpture on my front porch. I've been working on one sculpture for two years. This is the longest I've ever labored over a single object, and it isn't even large or highly detailed. I just have such little time to be making things. But while I was waiting for the plumber to finish fixing my drippy kitchen sink, I took advantage of being stuck at home to sand. The scent of blossoms only made the task enjoyable and I felt lucky to have been able to spend so much time on the sculpture.</span><br />
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Today I waited three hours for the plumber to come back and have a look at the still-dripping kitchen sink. Not knowing when he'd actually arrive, I dared myself to get one more thing done before he showed up. I planted lily of the valley bulbs in a shady area, under camellia trees by the side of my house. I planted a new cactus in a sunny spot next to the driveway. Rosie inspected my work. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;"> I finished sanding the sculpture! And rubbed oil on to its smooth surface. The plumber arrived and fixed the sink. </span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-87049373662256421292015-01-28T21:45:00.000-08:002015-04-09T22:09:31.468-07:00still-sound 208. Mudcloth, scissors and yew<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #444444;">Look at Rosie inspecting the camel saddle. Brennan found it a few weeks ago and decided to use it as a stool in his living room. The orange leather upholstering on the seat had seen better days, becoming a bit tattered along the seams. He decided to reupholster it, went to a fabric store downtown and found African mud cloth. I never heard of mud cloth but I like the way it looks and think Brennan made the perfect choice. It looks like it would fit in a Commune-designed interior. Commune is a Californian design group that combines elements of modernism with ethnicy, craftsy details. Their aesthetic appeals to me. I bought Brennan a book about Commune for Christmas and we often look threw it while drinking wine.</span><br />
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I helped Brennan sew because I like to sew and have done a lot of it. I used to make sewn sculptures back in the day in London (which took forever to complete) so I practically pinned the fabric and threaded the needle with my eyes closed. I'd call it muscle memory, but it's more like finger memory.</span><br />
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I brought the seat over to Brennan's last night. The completed camel saddle fit the space perfectly. To thank me for my labor, Brennan gave me an exceptionally thoughtful present that he picked up at a Japanese store in Venice. It was a pair of 'spring scissors'. Only a few days ago I described an episode of Begin Japanology which focused on scissors in Japan. Apparently spring scissors are only used in Japan although they originally came over from Europe many hundreds of years ago. My favorite scene of the documentary was of an arrow maker using large spring scissors to trim the feathers at the end of an arrow. The feather trimmings fell lightly on to an indigo-dyed fabric spread out on the floor. I watched and thought how I would like to be an arrow maker.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">When I got home I put my new scissors on the bookshelf in my bedroom next to boxes holding implements for the incense ceremony. Hanging from the same bookshelf is a brush that my friend Yvettra gave me for Christmas. It's made of a yew branch, the bristles are horsehair. I've been fascinated by yew ever since I was a teenager and attended a sung performance at the Academy of Music in Philadelphia. The piece was written in another language and I remember reading the translation which mentioned a yew tree. I wondered what a yew tree looked like. I now know because I've been interested in yew ever since that night. I use the brush to dust off my shelves and shoes.</span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-60345808441180965502015-01-19T20:43:00.000-08:002015-04-09T22:09:52.776-07:00still-sound 207. Jeans<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Sometimes some details have to be perfect, and you can not compromise. At this time in my life, my jeans must be perfect.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I got a pair of forest green jeans nearly two years ago from Levi's fancier, prestige line called Made & Crafted. You can imagine...Made in the USA, perhaps from vintage looms, based on classic American patterns. I loved the jeans and wore them nearly every day for over a year. This isn't an exaggeration. I still wear them regularly. They fit my legs perfectly which is not true of most of my other jeans. I won't wear skinny jeans anymore because only Goths or Emos wear skinny jeans now. And a 42 year old Goth / Emo is very uncool. I'm 42.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I decided that I needed to add another pair of jeans to my wardrobe - allowing me the possibility to rotate between two, perfect pairs. I found some of the raw denim, indigo, selvedge variety in a shop in Venice called Stag. Made & Crafted, like the forest green jeans. They were even the same style (called Tack). In the changing room I rummaged through the garment looking for a tag claiming 'Made in the USA'. They were made in Turkey. Obviously I have nothing against Turkish clothing but I had expected Made & Crafted to be proudly made in the USA. I mean, it's kind of the point...</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I bought them anyway. They're perfect jeans. I wear them with black boots. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The legs were too long and I cut and hand stitched a new hem but the hem was not perfect. They need to have been executed on a factory machine. I wore the jeans rolled up twice so that the hem was not visible at all - but still the imperfect hem niggled at me.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I brought the jeans to a store called Denim Doctor, exactly one block away from the perfume store where I work. I spoke with a man who introduced himself as Osweyo. Being an unusual name, he spelled the name immediately after saying it. I'm not exactly sure if the name was Osweyo in fact - he said it and spelled it all too fast for me to register the information. I asked him how much it would cost to secure my hem with a sewing machine. He said "Normally $25, but for you, $20." He wrote 'Rush' on the work ticket and told me that they'd be ready by Tuesday. I asked him what the stitch would be like, and he answered 'the classic chain stitch'. There was a display of Japanese magazines in the front of the store. Apparently Denim Doctor was featured in nearly all of them.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">$20 was a bit more than what I had expected to pay for the alteration. J Crew and Nordstrom does hems for $5 - or at least that's what I had in my head. But the perfect jeans need to have perfect hems. Apparently perfect hems are chainstitched.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When I returned to work I told my friend Yvettra about my trip to Denim Doctor. "Who helped you? Jake?" </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"He said his name was Osweyo" was my reply. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"You mean the black guy who runs the shop?' </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Yeah". </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Yvettra exploded into laughter. "He told me his name was Jake!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Yvettra told me that her alterations from Denim Doctor took much longer than what Jake originally told her. "Like a month. You might not have your jeans for a month." A mild panic crept into my shoulders. Those jeans make up 50% of my wardrobe from the waist down. A month without them would prove to be a real sacrifice. And I paid $20 for it? </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Osweyo didn't call me on Tuesday to tell me that my jeans were ready. No one called me. On Wednesday several of my errands caused me a fair amount of stress and when I found myself especially strained, started thinking about the jeans. 'My jeans aren't even ready....and I paid $20 too...'</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Someone called me at the end of Thursday to notify me that my jeans were ready to be picked up which is what I did the moment I got to work Friday morning. Osweyo/Jake was not there. A man with a Jesus hair/beard combination with a Jesus physique gave me my jeans. I put them on immediately. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">They look fine. They're the correct hem but I'm not sure if I could confidently state that they <i>feel</i> like the perfect hem or if these were the perfect jeans at all. Maybe I just need to grow into them. Sometimes you don't realize something is perfect until you're used to it.</span></span><br />
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Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-43041127832876303092015-01-08T00:28:00.000-08:002015-01-08T00:28:09.361-08:00still-sound 206. Incense ceremony<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On Christmas I made an online order for traditional Japanese incense ceremony tools. I impatiently waited every day for the mailman to come like a kid having sent off bottle caps or cereal box tops in order to win a free prize. I know kids don't do things like this anymore...but they used to. I remember it.<br />
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My Koh-Do tools arrived a few days ago. I worried that I hadn't ordered enough ceremonial ash. I decided that I would eventually want to have more than two cups involved in the ritual which would certainly require more ash. I walked down the street to the expensive natural food store and bought three more bags of ash. I love that I live in a city where you can buy ceremonial Japanese ash down the street at a grocery store.<br />
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The ceremony works like this. You place a lit charcoal in a cup full of ash. You cover the charcoal with the ash and form it into a little five-sided mountain. You poke a whole through the mountain allowing heat to rise. You place a mica plate directly over this hole. You place a a tiny chip of a fragrant, precious wood such as agarwood or sandalwood on the mica plate. You hold the cup, cover half of it with your hand and take a sniff. In Japan this is referred to as 'listening to incense'.<br />
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I already had some pieces of agarwood (jinkoh, oud, aloeswood...it goes by many names) thanks to Faruk, a generous client at our perfume shop. I purchased some sandalwood chips online. I don't know whether they originally come from India or Australia - the two main sources of sandalwood. <br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">Tonight I practiced the ceremony. I read that the incenses should have names and that collectively, should tell a story. I named the three agarwood specimens after birds: <b>ostrich</b>, <b>swan</b> and <b>sparrow</b>. I named the two types of sandalwood Shoyeido and Yamadamatsu, after the Japanese brands that packaged and sold the chips. I realize that the latter two names don't tell much of a story so I shall have to be a little more creative the next time I repeat the cermony.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Here's a picture of 'Ostrich' being 'listened to'. What did it say? It revealed the early springtime scent of narcissus. 'Sparrow' sounded more like sweet, woody marshmallow - what I typically expect from agarwood incense. 'Swan' said very little to me. I think the chip that I carved was too small. Or perhaps I didn't spend enough time with it to figure out what it was doing.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Listening to precious woods in this way is considerably different to my usual incense appreciation. The cup is warm in your hand, like a small animal. Your face moves into the warmth and the scent is subtle and close. It's similar to smelling someone you love. The scent is elusive. It appears then disappears. Then reappears.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Shoyeido sandalwood was much more indolic in its scent than I had anticipated. I thought of fine silk unpacked from a box with a suggestion of mothballs. It reminded me of my Korean grandmother wearing a han-bok. I remember how my grandmother was a big fan of mothballs. I was only three when I knew her.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Yamadamatsu sandalwood had a sweet fruitiness, like tangerine or orange. This was a lovely surprise.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The ceremony took much longer than I had expected. I 'listened' for well over an hour. When I finished I took a very long time cleaning and putting away the tools, materials and implements as though they were all sacred objects.</span>Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-65060691833862806212014-11-05T20:35:00.001-08:002014-11-05T20:35:15.562-08:00still-sound 205. Sneaky<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">I usually devote a good portion of my Wednesdays to my mom. I have the day off and chauffeur her around Los Angeles since she no longer drives. LA Fitness, the Korean supermarket, the doctor's office and Walmart are the typical destinations. After the gym and a short errand I asked if there was anything she needed to get done. It was unusually (for November) hot today and I hoped that she wouldn't have any pressing requests. She wanted to go home and give her dog Genny a bath. I was very pleased to hear this.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">After coming home and eating some Vietnamese spring rolls for lunch I decided to sneak out and get a coffee in Silverlake. I would have to maintain impeccable discretion to pull it off, otherwise my mom would hear me opening my car door and ask me where I was going. (I would feel guilty for not inviting her to come with me - especially as Wednesday is 'her' day). I put on black jeans and laced up my new black boots. Sneaky people wear black.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">Barely audible Chopin nocturnes emitted from my car speakers. It's not my usual driving soundtrack, in fact I find it frustrating listening to most classical piano music since the audio levels are often very low and I have to turn the volume up to a level that makes me nervous. I suppose the point of playing at a constant pianissimo is to emphasize the drama of a forte. I suppose I don't really like drama while I'm driving. But I kept the Chopin on because it seemed right.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">The heavy traffic of the 101 hardly dampened my enthusiasm. This is rare. I'm almost always filled with rage when driving. When I finally reached Silverlake I parked my car and started walking towards Intelligentsia Coffee. As I got closer to my destination a strange looking guy asked me if I was 'for peace'. Of course I'm 'for peace' but I didn't want to stop and talk with him and sign something or give a donation. I suppose this makes me typically Silverlake. I told him that I couldn't talk because I had to 'get somewhere'. My face adopted a slightly pathetic expression.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">When I reached Intelligentsia, the gates were closed and a guy was sweeping up. They were going to host a private event there. I was not invited to this private event.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">Thankfully the flower shop next to Intelligentsia was open. They sell more 'natural' flowers. Less flower-shop-refrigerator-style foliage. Things like eucalyptus branches, pincushions, chamomile, rosemary. I selected some eucalyptus and rose hips. The woman working there placed the greens in brown kraft paper and threw in a stalk of something exotic that resembled seaweed. She only charged me $9 for everything. Everyone seemed to like me on sneaky-Steve day.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">I exited the flower shop and checked to see if the weird-'are you for peace'-guy was around. He was, so I took a right instead of a left and popped into a couple of shops on Sunset Blvd. I crossed the street and decided to have a coffee at Black Cat. It was dark and stylish inside. I ordered a coffee and took a photo of my newly acquired bouquet. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">The coffee was especially dark, rich and delicious. It tasted like coffee from an expensive restaurant. I suppose Black Cat is an expensive restaurant. I read my book for a bit until they dimmed the lights in anticipation of the dinner crowd. When I emerged back on to Sunset Blvd, the sun had mostly set. We changed the clocks last Sunday and since then have been waking up an hour early every morning and find it surprising when it gets dark by 6 pm. As I walked towards my car I noticed the full moon, rising above the trees and the El Pollo Loco parking lot.</span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-12962014400705294562014-04-03T22:03:00.001-07:002014-04-03T22:03:17.140-07:00still-sound 204. What I got today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Rob and I took my mom to the Korean supermarket in Little Tokyo today. She tends to take a very long time in the grocery store. I'm learning to deal with it. Since she doesn't drive in Los Angeles her outings are dependent on my free time and good humor. A trip to the grocery store is a big deal to her. So much so that she'll choose an outfit and do her hair and makeup in preparation. I respect that.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> While she inspected every fruit and vegetable in the produce section, I zipped over to the prepared sushi counter and scoffed down unagi and miso soup in a styrofoam cup. When I returned to the shopping cart my mom didn't even notice my absence. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Rob put two jars of honey in the cart. I liked the label. By the time my mom paid for her groceries, nearly two hours had passed. When we returned home I took a nap with Rosie for thirty minutes while watching At Home With Venetia in Kyoto. It's an episode I've watched countless times. She makes shampoo with aloe, rosemary and kombu.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When I woke up I walked to a bookstore in my neighborhood called Seite. Seite means 'pages' in German. It's so random that it exists only a few blocks away. I realized as I walked down the street that it was my first daytime walk in the neighborhood. The only other time was when Brennan and I walked to the metro station on new year's eve. It's not really the kind of neighborhood where you walk around. Mostly because massive dogs jump against gates as you past them and this scares the shit out of me.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I liked Seite. There was a selection of books you might find in a used book store in a small college town. In the corner of the store was a counter that sold Mexican perfumes and cosmetics. I bought a book about the techniques of wood sculpture. I like how it's 'profusely illustrated' (according to the bottom right hand corner). I also bought a book called The Folkore of Trees and Shrubs. I was hoping (in vain) that there would be a cool book about Japanese gardens. The last time I was at Stories Bookstore in Echo Park I found a book about Japanese bamboo fences. It's the kind of thing I'd probably pick up often and just stare at the pictures. I didn't buy it though I wish I had.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Now it's nighttime and Rosie is pressed against my leg snoring. I made myself a Manhattan and will begin to page through my new books.</span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-79728431795819480002014-03-20T00:43:00.000-07:002014-03-20T00:47:04.544-07:00still-sound 203. A lamp & a picture<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A few weeks ago a cold made me miss two days of work. I stayed home and slept. Despite feeling miserable, I was delighted by the light in my room. The blinds on my window filtered the sunlight adequately to create a soft, white glow. I felt like I was sleeping in an Ingmar Bergman film.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Yesterday I hung a small Noguchi Akari pendant lamp next to my bed. It blends into the wall during the daylight hours leaving a soft shadow against the wall. At night it produces a warm, golden light allowing me to leaf through J Crew catalogs.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The lamp didn't suit the black framed drawing hanging on the wall a few inches away. i cut out a photograph from an album my dad made in the 1960s and placed it in a white frame. While he was alive I never truly appreciated dad's creativity and never regarded him as an artist. This is because he never regarded himself as an artist. He thought he wasn't fancy enough.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The photo on my wall is beautiful.</span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-58375242782510576152014-02-20T19:06:00.001-08:002014-02-21T08:48:39.235-08:00still-sound 202. Sad emoji<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When I drive back from the park after walking Rosie and Genny (mom's dog), I am usually on edge. The back seats and passenger seats of the car are always covered in mud despite my efforts to keep things clean by laying down towels. Genny starts crying with excitement as we ascend the driveway. She loves my mom so desperately she can't but whimper at the very thought of being reunited with her. She bolts out of the car the moment I open the door. Rosie whips herself into a frenzy Genny style and begins running in circles while barking angrily.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">While scolding my mom before I left for work (for spending too much money and having unrealistic expectations) I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I checked it when I was safely in my car and setting out to go to work. I received two texts. I didn't recognize the number. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It read "You said you won't hurt my feelings but u did when u didn't text back" punctuated with a crying emoji. Then, simply, "Thanks" with a sad face emoji.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I wondered who it was from. I couldn't think of anyone. I'm too old to know anyone who would even feel this way let alone text me to let me know. Poor thing. She obviously had the wrong number. If my morning sucked, hers was surely worse.</span><br />
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Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6965886169477121717.post-64132163394230184442014-02-20T18:36:00.003-08:002014-02-20T18:36:37.303-08:00still-sound 201. Narcissus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">My mom and I went to Anawalt Lumber in the second or third week after her move to Los Angeles. She bought a couple of small trees which I planted near her front door. I bought narcissus bulbs. You can buy ready-to-go narcissus bulbs at Trader Joe's, (ie. they're already situated in a little pot with earth). All you have to do is water them from time to time and wait for the bright green hints of early springtime to shoot forth. I figured I already had pots and dirt so the three bulbs for $3 would suffice. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">One bulb emerged remarkably quickly. I kept the soil damp - perhaps too damp as little mushrooms started appearing on the surface. I wondered if this was dangerous. I googled "Is it dangerous to grow mushrooms indoors." You can find every type of opposing answers to simple questions online. Generally the answer seemed to be 'no'.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I replanted the virtuoso bulb in a mason jar on its own. I marveled at the white strands pushing through the soil against the glass wall of the jar. There's something so satisfying about looking at roots 'in action'. I eventually made the realization that they were not roots sprouting from the narcissus bulb. They were in fact a mycelial network sprouting up more little mushrooms on the surface. For some inexplicable reason I thought this was gross.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The small paperwhite flowers bloomed a week or so later. The scent is particular - somewhat pretty somewhat not-so-pretty. Rob was sitting on the sofa and asked me if I smelled cat pee. No. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"I feel like I'm smelling cat pee" he insisted. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I took a picture of the blossoms and posted it on Instagram. </span><br />
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<br />Steven Gontarskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01651476003891385695noreply@blogger.com0